Tabula Rasa
Filip Forsberg
Tabula Rasa
Copyright © Filip Forsberg 2018
P R O LO G U E
Costa Rica
1048
He strenuously worked the soil which was hard and unforgiving. It was the year of the lord 1048AD and the humid heat was intense. It lay like a wet and warm blanket over the landscape and now, when the sun was at its peak, it was almost unbearable. As usual, a breeze swept down from the great volcano in the west and normally it used to keep the temperature low, but today it was weaker and the heat of the sun burned straight down from the clear sky.
The man, whose name was Adsil, worked the field and was soaking wet with sweat. His strong back muscles tensed and relaxed as he rhythmically let his pickax work the soil in front of him. Time after time he raised it, repeatedly plunging it down and digging deeper. The ground was hard, but also fertile, but it required a strong man to keep it in check.
A boy shouted as he came running down the path that led to the field where Adsil worked.
“Dad!”
Adsil put the pickax in the ground a last time, stretched and wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was Cirro. He smiled at his son that smooth as a panther ran across the uneven ground. Adsil caught him as he had done many times, lifted him and threw him into the air as the boy was weightless and caught him when he fell back into his arms. Cirro howled with laughter.
“Dad, I’m flying!”
Adsil laughed, ruffled the boy's hair and gave him a hug before setting him down on the ground.
“How’s it going back home?”
Cirro smiled widely and his eyes glowed with pride.
“You know what happened?” Before Adsil could answer Cirro continued, “We killed a snake!” Cirro measured with his hands and held them out to the side to show his father how long it was.
“It was this long, very big. Jaco and I were collecting fruit for mom and on our way home it came out from the shrubbery.”
Cirros excited voice talked fast and he gestured wildly while he was telling.
Adsil crouched and listened attentively. The boy's excitement and pride when he told his father what happened was clear. Adsil nodded to the boy and smiled.
“I will finish working the field and then when I come home we will have a feast. We will celebrate that my sons are strong warriors capable of killing one of the most dangerous animals of the jungle.”
He paused while Cirro beamed with pride. “Tell your mother to prepare the snake and we'll grill it together.”
Cirro jumped up, gave his dad a hug and then quickly set off across the field. Adsil smiled when he saw his son disappear. His back creaked when he got up and the heat did not help. He massaged his sore back while he went over to the shade of a large tree and sat down for a much needed break.
* * *
Adsil did not know for how long he had been sitting there when something changed inside of him. A feeling of discomfort grew within him. He opened his eyes, blinked a couple of times and looked around. A dull sound rang out around him, but it was difficult to see where it came from. The sun was sharp and he rubbed his eyes for his eyes to focus.
He looked up and did not know what it was he saw. Astonished, he stared upwards as he rose from his seated position. The deep blue of sky had been replaced by a strange, shimmering light that seemed to come from above the sparse clouds. The light shone weakly at first but then the stronger and stronger. Fascinated, he watched the spectacle in front of him and stood as petrified when the shimmering light slowly turned into a more greenish tone.
The surroundings bathed him in blue-green light and the usual shades of the forest looked alien. There was no fear in him. He stood like a statue and stared up while the sky changed color from blue to purple and then through all the colors of the rainbow. He heard his son's voice.
“Father! Father!”
Adsil blinked in suprisement.
“You must come! Its mom, something is happening to her, Jaco is there!”
Adsils brain raced. The surroundings had a yellowish shine and Cirros face looked sick and the words penetrated as needles into Adsils head. He ran.
* * *
He arrived at the clearing where their house was and shouted.
“Gisa! Where are you?” Adsil looked around desperately. A weak voice came from inside the house.
“Here, father! Come quickly!” he rushed into the house and was immediately struck with terror. Gisa laid on the stomped earth floor and shook uncontrollably. Her beautiful face was covered with dirt and distorted in a grimace and from a corner of her mouth a string of saliva trickled down. Jaco sat at her side with dark streaks of tears on his cheeks as he tried to help his mother. He sobbed.
“She is sick! Something is happening to Mom!”
Adsil rushed to her and put his hands on her body. She was hot. Burning hot.
“My love, what is happening to you?”
She did not answer but continued to shake violently and the cramps that swept through her body made it as stiff as a plank. Adsil starred uncomprehendingly at her. The shifting light outside penetrated the cottage and gave the inside of it a surreal glow. Gisas face was distorted by the pain and looked ghostly. He shuddered. He glanced over at his sons and thanked the gods that they were not affected. He shouted at them.
“Help me carry her to the bed.”
His sons carefully grabbed their mother and together they carried her to the bed in one of the corners of the cottage and gently laid her down. Gisas body was still shaking and her mouth opened and closed in soundless words.
Outside the house, the dull sound changed its character. Adsil froze and turned his head and looked out the door and the ground outside. The shimmering light had changed color and was now reddish and everything looked like it had been dipped in blood. Fear grabbed a hold of him and when the sound rose and fell in intensity, it was like the sound called to him.
He turned away from his wife and turned to the light outside. He took a step towards the door, hesitated, and took another. Jaco shouted behind him.
“Father, stay! Don’t go out!”
Adsil turned around with a confused look on his face and stared at his sons with tears in their eyes, praying that their father would not go out into the blood-red world outside their house. He tried to stop himself, but could not and raised his hand to them in a greeting, turned around and went outside.
The red glow warmed his face and he stared upwards and saw a half-dozen suns slowly fall to the ground. Fascinated, he stared as the shining suns eased downwards. They did not fall uncontrollably, but it was like they were lowered by an invisible rope.
He was surrounded by the red light and lifted his hands, looked at them and became warm inside. It was no fear that filled him. Neither fear nor love. It was something else. Something he had not felt before. A warm, soft feeling that rose from somewhere within him and replaced the abyss of darkness he felt a few minutes ago. He looked up at the shining spheres and reached up towards them.
He heard his son's voice behind him. Adsil did not understand what his son said but turned around and looked at him. Jaco pointed at the cottage. Adsil followed Jaco's outstretched finger. There. In the opening stood Gisa, dirty, weak and sweaty but sane. She smiled at him. He rushed to his wife and took her in his arms.
“How are you doing? What happened?” his voice trembling.
She rested her head against his chest.
“I don’t know what happened” she paused, “Perhaps it is the gods who have come to show us something.” Her voice was low but strong.
Adsil looked in bewilderment at her.
“What do you mean? Why do you think that?”
Gisa shrugged and looked up at th
e now hundreds of spheres that fell from the sky.
“It may be so and maybe not. It doesn’t matter really.”
Gisa lifted her hands and saw her hands in the now bluish light. Her voice was calm in a way that Adsil had not expected.
“What do you mean? It doesn’t matter?”
Gisa shook her head while gently grabbing her husband.
“No, it does not matter. But I know something else.” Her eyes sparkled with expectation.
Confusion grabbed a hold of him.
“What?”
She leaned toward her husband and hugged him hard.
“They are here to help us. They have come to show us the way. They have come to open our eyes and they will be with us to lead us into the light.” She lifted her arms and the warmth of the spheres radiated towards them.
*
Tabula Rasa, Madagascar.
2048-12-26
Death followed them with a cold, calculated gaze. The light blue helicopter rose smoothly and continued along the coast towards the northern tip of Madagascar. Its large rotor chewed through the air and kept the speed just over two hundred knots. The slender airframe glided across the sky unaware of the watchful eyes that followed their journey.
The sun sat low above the horizon and the sky glowed as they approached the end of their long journey. They flew on an altitude a little more than a kilometer up and thin, sparse clouds drifted lazily by next to them. Beneath them the dramatic coastline of Madagascar continued for mile after mile.
Inside the helicopter, Malin Persson tugged her seat belt so that it did not grip her too hard. The soft seat enveloped her and absorbed the deep vibration coming from the engine. She peeked out the window, past both the pilots. There, far away in the distance, there was something glittering at the horizon. As a sparkling grain of sand, Tabula Rasa reflected itself in the sun’s rays. Malin pulse quickened. It was there they were going, Tabula Rasa. Created by a legendary businessman, John Vendrick III, who was as skittish as he was mythical.
John had not been seen for more than seven years in public life and it was more than eight years ago since the last interview had been made with him. She smiled. It was close. She had fought hard the last year to come here and with sharp elbows and a little luck, she had done it. They were on their way to an interview with one of the world's most sought-after interviewee and this would take her career to new heights.
After nearly twenty hours of traveling, both Malin and her colleague, Denver Mikkelsen, were exhausted. They had got on a plane in Paris, flown ten hours south to Harare in Zimbabwe. After the obligatory delay there, they had continued towards the east coast of Africa and after that they had set course towards Pemba, westward from their destination in Madagascar.
She shook her head and rested her chin on her fist as she looked out the window. She was nervous. Tense. This was her chance. She had struggled hard to reach this. She would be someone, she would make her name known and rise from the anonymous masses.
They were sent from the journal International Life and their mission was as easy as exciting; to interview John Vendrick III, the creator and designer of Tabula Rasa. She looked toward Denver and smiled. They had worked together in recent years and they had a good working relationship. Denver had a friendly face, was quick-witted and intelligent and always had a good solution to the problems that arose. Denver smiled at her and winked, and was just about to say something when he abruptly closed his mouth.
The helicopter bounced into an air pocket and Malin firmly grabbed the armrests. She held her breath for a couple of seconds but forced herself to relax while she relaxed her grip. She did not like flying but it came with the job. During one of her first flights there had been smoke in the cabin and the breathing masks had dropped down from their holder in the roof. It had turned out that the smoke was harmless and had arisen because of a burned toast in the small kitchen, but the experience had left a deep mark within her. She had realized that she had to do something about it because her dream was to become a journalist. Either she would overcome her fear, air travel was inevitably a part of traveling all over the world, or she would give in for fear and opt-out her dreams.
Malin had chosen the former. She had completed several courses on learning how to control her fear of flying and could mostly relax when she flew instead of sitting and grabbing the armrests at the slightest turbulence.
Some more air pockets though put her thoughts out of her head and she instinctively pulled the belt again and focused her gaze straight ahead, it used to help. She rubbed her hands and the tension within her subsided. The bumping continued for a couple of minutes but soon the helicopter calmed down and continued its way forward. It crackled in her earphones.
“How is it going back there?” Asked André Liss, one of the pilots.
Malin pressed the helmet microphone against the mouth.
“Well, we'll still here. A little unusual to ride a helicopter though. How far is it?”
André gave a thumbs up.
“Five minutes, no more. Straight ahead.”
Denver pointed out through the side window.
“It is interesting that it is the year 2048, but when you look out at the landscape from this altitude, it’s hard to see if we are here now, or a million years ago,” he paused, “I like the view but it will be really nice to arrive and stretch our legs.”
Malin nodded.
“Doesn’t it look beautiful?”
But she knew better. From the helicopter the landscape looked untouched, but she knew that the last decades of environmental degradation and industrial disasters now also had an impact on remote, isolated areas like Madagascar.
It was not more than three years ago that the supertanker Maxim Hoy had capsized during a storm, no more than a hundred nautical miles away. Maxim Hoy had been one of the world's largest ships and when she had sunk, more than seven million barrels of oil had leaked out into the ocean. It was an unprecedented environmental disaster, and yet today there was cleaning teams working to clean up the oil that had spread as far as India.
Her eyes were irritated and she rubbed them gently. It had been a long journey and now she was running on empty. A headache had taken a firm grip of her neck, and every hour it crept like a wet, cold blanket further and further up the back of her head. She rubbed her temples and the pain eased but she wished she had brought aspirin with her. It had gone too fast when she had packed and she had not brought half of what she used to travel with.
Malin reminisced on the conversation she had with her boss. Her boss had called her up on the video link and ordered her and Denver to go at once. It was unusual, her boss did not usually behave like that, but she had been keen that Malin left quickly. Malin’s work to get permission to interview John Vendrick III had apparently paid off. Exactly how the permission had been granted, she did not know and she had not had the opportunity to investigate the matter further.
The blood vein that used to throb when her boss got excited or angry had looked like it would crack. During the conversation with her boss, she had instinctively taken a step back, although they were thousands of kilometers apart.
The memory of her beloved uncle Laurent who inspired her to become a journalist appeared in her mind and all his stories of crazy bosses he had throughout the years. She chuckled.
Their destination was Tabula Rasa. A new type of mega complex that had begun to establish itself around the world in the middle of the twenty-first century. These new mega complexes were a further development of the major Chinese business areas that had grown up around the turn of the century. Different countries have their own laws and rules, and some were more advantageous than others when it came to the establishment of these new types of society. Most of these were in Asia and South America, but also Africa had in the last decade experienced a boost in the establishment of these complexes. Basically they were independent cities concentrated to a minimal area to make every square meter more efficient. In the largest of them a
lmost a million people lived, in the smallest, barely a hundred thousand.
The soft seat embraced Malin and the muffled sound from the engine was soothing. She looked over at Denver.
“Yes. It will be nice to arrive. Gets even more exciting to meet Vendrick. Will be a real scoop, promise me we’ll not mess it up?”
Denver smiled.
“Of course we won’t mess it up. This will be the best we’ve done so far. This will put our names on the map. For sure.”
Denver did not have the same desire for fame that Malin had but was content with a more anonymous existence. She found strength in Denver’s confidence and she was filled with joy that he was her colleague. She returned the smile, turned forward and was about to bend over to pick up something from a bag placed under her seat when she was interrupted.
A small red lamp placed in the middle of the pilot's control panel began to flash angrily. Malin and Denver exchanged glances. Half a second later a loud noise cut through the cabin and the hair on her arms stood up.
“I didn’t think there were any active warnings?” the co-pilot shouted.
Some parts of Africa's coasts were more dangerous than others, and for the most dangerous ones regular warnings were sent out to pay attention to various types of threats that was current in that area. By far the most common was regarding pirates. Nowadays, the pirates were equipped with the latest equipment that technology could bring, fast racing boats that allowed them to come out of nowhere, strike and disappear just as quickly. They were as well-equipped as cruel and rarely anyone survived a successful attack.
André replied.
“No, I didn’t think so either, I have not heard anything.”
The co-pilot thumbed the communication button.
“Tabula Rasa approach. This is flight tango-tango-five.”
A few seconds passed. The radio crackled and a calm female voice came online.
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